Hate
by alli-sun
Summary: Ron and Draco had a hate so strong, it could not be knocked down by anything. Sex, war, wives, whatever they faced, the hate stayed strong and did not burn down.
1. Chapter 1

**Hate**

**Summary**: Ron and Draco had a hate so strong, it could not be knocked down by anything. Sex, war, wives, whatever they faced, the hate stayed strong and did not burn down. Join me for spring break with allieweasley in the story of Hate. Watch out homophobics, it's slash, and you wouldn't like that, would you?

**A/N** - The HBP is out and I have read it and everything, but I've chosen not to incorporate it in this story, since it'll ruin the plot I had in mind. So when you review, don't go asking me, "Why isn't Dumbledore dead? Why did Draco come back for seventh year? Why didn't I read the author's note at the beginning of the story?"

The story

Ever since they first laid eyes on each other, a fire began to grow.

Ever since they first saw each other on the Hogwarts Express, Ronald Weasley and Draco Malfoy acknowledged each other. Ron saw Draco as the snobby, spoiled little serpent his father had described when he was a child (actually, it was Lucius who he had called these things, as well as many other inappropriate words, but Arthur informed his son that all Malfoys had these traits). Draco saw Ron as the poor pauper _his_ father had described, a blood traitor with a Gryffindor mule-like temper and a headstrong attitude carried throughout the Weasley blood.

There was an unspoken promise of hate between the two. They hated each other in their first year, where they both began to experience each other in person and concluded that their fathers were correct. They hated each other in their second year. Draco laughed in Ron's face about his "sweet little Mudblood, paralyzed". They fought many a times in the corridors, and it was a wonder where all the teachers had gone. Nevertheless, even if there were teachers, nothing could stop the Malfoy-Weasley hate cycle.

In third year Ron was beginning to get sick of it. He was tired of the constant flow of insults from the boy, the boy who always had to be ruddy perfect with his white-blonde hair and piercing grey eyes. It was always about his family, about their status, their number, their lack of money, anything. Fred and George were immature clowns; Percy was an uptight goody-goody with something shoved up his arse. Ginny was this shy little girl who followed the famous Harry Potter around like a lost puppy.

And his friends. Oh, how those would make Ron shudder. Hermione Granger, the dirty Mudblood with a bushy mane of hair that suited a Gryffindor well, Draco had informed him. And Harry Potter, famous Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived. Draco had something to say about that.

But it was hardly about Ron himself.

In the beginning of their fourth year, Ron was rather preoccupied hating Harry and had little time for Draco. And somehow, this made Draco furious.

He didn't know how, but this seemed to conjure many emotions from inside of him. Malfoys were never supposed to feel this way, but he felt jealousy, annoyance, wanting. Draco was trying to work these feelings out when he came to a realization: Ron was the person who responded to him, who erupted in feelings and raw emotions and made him feel something back.

Fifth year was an odd year for the two. The O.W.L.'s had been a killer and both remembered this very grimly. They especially remembered the times when the library had become a common escape from the irritations of their common rooms, and how it had become so packed with frantically studying students that they had been forced to share tables a couple of times. Many times.

When they would sit down with their books and parchment and quills, they both tried their very hardest to ignore each other, but that proved to be one of the most difficult things they could imagine. Draco could hardly keep himself from poking fun at Ron's study habits, snorting at how Ron would sometimes hit himself over the head with an aggravating textbook, or at Ron's expression when he was trying to remember something rather important. He would screw his eyes shut and wrinkle his nose, causing his freckles to jumble up, and scrunch up his red hair with his reddening hands.

Ron had been trying his best to ignore these stabs at his mannerisms. He would remember what Hermione told him ("He's just trying to get to you, Ron,") and glare at a piece of homework that still needed two more inches of writing. And Draco couldn't help but poke fun at his handwriting as well. Too big, too bulky, but very Weasley.

They did not know how, but somewhere in sixth year they suddenly grabbed hold of each other and snogged. They both forgot where it had taken place, it could've been outside on the soft green grass, or in the privacy of the Astronomy Tower, but they remembered that there had not been another soul around when they shared their first kiss.

It was not to be called a kiss, they agreed. The mutual feeling of hate did not end even when they snuck off to be alone. When people dreamed of a kiss, it would be soft and sweet, full of passion and desire. Ron and Draco only fulfilled the requirements of passion and desire.

Their kisses was a collision of open lips, grinding teeth and lashing of tongues. It was a fight for dominance between two of the most stubborn boys in Hogwarts. Sometimes, Ron would pin Draco against the wall using his sheer strength to prove himself as alpha. He used his larger body build against Draco and his smaller frame.

Draco, on the other hand, enjoyed mind games. Ron was not stupid, but his mind power was not far from average, while Draco's exceeded others of his age (and if it weren't for the "Mudblood" he would be top student). He would tangle Ron up in his sly words and pull as many tricks as Peter, the Poltergeist, though his tricks had a much different purpose.

They didn't remember where they first made love either. "Don't call it making love," they told themselves. "Just fucking." They always remembered where they came close to it, however. Like the time Ron stayed back in the changing rooms after Quidditch practice and Draco snuck up on him, and vice versa. Except Ron failed hilariously in stealth.

They did not remember where, but they remembered everything else.

They remembered how the atmosphere felt, wonderfully unromantic and contained absolutely no words. No "baby" or "honey" or "sweet pea", or any other sort of cheesy lovey-dovey name. They were focused on what they wanted, in getting down and dirty and tearing those annoying clothes off. Draco had even allowed Ron to tear his expensive, designer robes into shreds. Ron never told Draco about this, but he enjoyed doing so immensely.

They had memorized each other's scents and smells long ago: Ron was a spicy fire and Draco wore Men's perfume and was much too clean. But that did not bother them the slightest. One boy shoved the other on his knees, and in retort, once he was finished the other boy would do the same.

It was a fierce battle of hate, it was always a fierce battle of hate. They had hated each other for such a long time, and showed it in every possible way. Ron had taken a liking to biting down on Draco's neck, shoulders, anywhere it would show an imperfection. Draco would show cruelty and absolutely no mercy, teasing Ron as he stroked the boys rock-hard erection but not allowing him to climax just yet.

They remembered beginning a wrestling match, flipping each other on their backs until finally Ron triumphed and pinned Draco down on the ground. In a way, Draco had expected this, since he could not possibly hope to beat the redhead in a physical brawl, but he had still gotten exactly what he wanted. He just allowed Ron to think otherwise when he opened his legs and allowed him to ram into him, hard.

After the first two times of "fucking", they began talking, but only after they were done. They preferred to talk when they were worn out, still tangled up in sweat and limbs. They would lie like this casually and lazily as if it was an everyday activity (which it had indeed become) and speak their minds about things. And since they were completely drained in mind and body, their conversations were often absent-minded.

Draco would prefer to talk what was happening in the student crowd. He refused to call this gossip, claiming to Ron that such was a girl thing, and he was _very_ manly, thank you very much. It was often about the Gryffindors, and how they did so-and-so on Friday (Ron never really listened to those kind of things but he was sure that whatever Draco was talking about it was something insulting).

Ron, on the other hand, usually talked about small, random things. He would complain about Snape, yes, or some other teacher who had given him an unfair amount of homework, but he would also point out human nature. Like the fact that you never really know you're growing until you look at your old pictures or realize that the clothes you're wearing are much too small. And how you always come up with a good come back when the time has passed and the person you wished to insult as gone. At that point, Ron would keep a steady stream of offending slander that he had always wished to say and had never gotten the chance to do so.

Later on in the year, they began talking about much more personal subjects. Their fathers, family, friends (fucking starts with an _f_ too) and suddenly, Draco brought up the subject of the war. He would fiddle with Ron's nipples as he spoke of the uncomfortable subject. Draco informed Ron that he had no intention _whatsoever _to give up his destiny as Death Eater. Ron said nothing, he only sighed.

No matter what they talked about, they would always end it the same way.

"I hate you."

"I hate you, too."

And they would kiss and fall asleep.

In seventh year, they went public, deciding that they didn't care enough about what people thought. Ron had already endured enough embarrassment and humiliation over the past few years from Draco to become affected too much. And whoever thought that they could affront Draco and get away with it…well, we can't make this story too gory.

Harry Potter's first reaction was a flinch. He screwed up his right eye and wrinkled his nose, because he just could not understand. His best friend, whom he had known so well, had hid something from him for a year without his noticing, and such did not make him feel very intelligent. However, he was absolutely sure that Hermione, the smart one, could sort out problems.

Did Hermione understand? Yes and no. She understood that as opposites of each other Ron and Draco balanced one another and suited each other rather well. And she also learned to respect what they had and tolerate it, often frowning at the homophobic Golden Boy. But there was something she could not make heads or tail of: Ron and Draco continued to act exactly the same in public. Not exactly the same, Ron was more confident now and shot impressive insults right back at Draco. And any sort of joke Draco drawled out would include the usual your-family-and-friends-suck with a new, sexual twist which made Hermione blush but would make Ron smirk.

She had asked Ron if he loved Draco, and he looked at her as if she had gone mental. "No…" He had said extremely slowly. "Why?"

And Hermione just could not understand that.

When Crabbe and Goyle saw Draco bring Ron to the Slytherin dormitory, they stared with an interested expression, then shrugged and looked away. They tried to work out how two men would work, but Draco assured them that it was completely normal. "You can try if you like," He said, holding back a laugh. They shrugged again and walked to their rooms, turning around and asked Ron if he was okay, who looked as if he would puke any minute.

As for Dumbledore…well, the old man always knew everything that went on, everywhere, every time, and acknowledged this new development between his two students with a chuckle and a little snacking of lemon drops.

Then they graduated.

Draco lived up to his promise. He was marked in the middle of the graduation ceremony as well as the majority of the seventh-year Slytherins and anyone else who wished to follow. Lord Voldemort had arrived with a respected number of Death Eater lackeys, overcoming teachers and a few foolish students who thought they could fight back. Dumbledore was pulled away for Ministry business two days before the ceremony, as he always is just before something dark and dramatic happens, and he came back just in time to save them all from a horrible death but was not able to catch the Dark Lord. He also wishes for the authoress to stop her sarcastic writing, which she unwillingly obeys.

The two continued to see each other, however. They taught themselves how to sneak out and blend in with the frightened crowds. Neither Ron or Draco bothered to convince the other to switch sides. Draco understood that Ron's family would be utterly appalled and horrified if Ron even slipped in the words, "joining Death Eaters," and knew that Ron didn't like the idea of killing for a living anyway. Ron understood that Draco's family expected him to be strong, he expected himself to be strong, and knew that trying to talk Draco into joining the light side would be one of the stupidest things he would attempt in his life.

When Harry Potter finally succeeded in killing Lord Voldemort after three long years of battle, all the Death Eaters and anyone else who had helped Voldemort in any way was arrested and almost certain to receive a death penalty. Except Draco. Draco had been sitting in his cell with his peers, the seventh-years who had been marked in the graduation ceremony, when Harry arrived and pulled Draco out, ignoring the shouts of outrage from the others. As he dragged Draco's arm along, he reminded him repeatedly that he was doing this for Ron. Not because he wanted to.

Everyone was surprised when they did not marry, or continue their relationship. Draco worked to get Pansy Parkinson out of Azkaban as well and proposed to her to seal the arranged marriage his parents had set up for the two when they were toddlers. Ron turned around and proposed to Hermione, shocking them all even more, and they reproduced like rabbits as all Weasleys did.

The Malfoy family and Weasley family often visited each other. The two families never stopped hating each other, and neither did Ron and Draco. It had become a habit to go to the Malfoy Manor for lunch on Sundays and to the Weasleys for some Quidditch. And afterwards, Draco would always drag Ron somewhere.

Hermione and Pansy knew full well what the two would do. Ron and Draco did not even bother to make excuses, they just walked away and came about half and hour later, out of breath with shining eyes and rosy cheeks. The wives knew that they loved their husbands, and their husbands loved them back, but they would always be second best, no matter how hard they tried.

The fire of hate had surrounded the two when they were eleven, and it still had not burned out.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A/N - That is the story, and the next chapters will all be drabbles short and long that take place in the plot. It can be anywhere, in the beginning, middle, or end, and the drabbles will be sort of random and contain many genres. The drabbles will not have any sort of official ending, they will only stop and this fic will only finish when springbreak ends for me. So please R/R and give me some ideas for the drabbles. I already have some planned, but it would be nice to hear input from reviewers. n-n


	2. Chapter 2

**Hate**

**Summary**: Ron and Draco had a hate so strong, it could not be knocked down by anything. Sex, war, wives, whatever they faced, the hate stayed strong and did not burn down. Join me for spring break with allieweasley in the story of Hate. Watch out homophobics, it's slash, and you wouldn't like that, would you?

**A/N - **Remember to read the author's note at the bottom.

The Drabbles

**Title: Draco can draw**

**Time: seventh year**

"You can _draw_?"

"Of course I can draw," Draco said, raising an eyebrow at Ron. They were sitting in the library with Harry and Hermione, who were trying their best to ignore the two.

"Draw what, exactly?"

"Would you like to see?"

"No."

"How do you expect me to show you?"

"Hn…you can model for me."

Harry's face unwillingly turned red. He began reciting a list of important magical laws Hermione had given him in a loud voice in an attempt to drown Ron and Draco's conversation.

"You know, Weasley, they sometimes say that artists prefer raw human nature. They fancy their art bare, very natural, and nothing to cover up or disguise. You follow me?"

"Mmhmm."

Any slash fangirl would have loved this moment, watching two very hot boys discussing… such things, but unfortunately, Hermione was not a slash fangirl. She was a young woman who wished to pass, no, _ace_ the N.E.W.T.'s. She wished to exceed everyone else in their testing and shine above her peers, and she did not like the annoyance of her best friend and her hated rival discussing…such things.

Draco had begun to doodle on his parchment. For a short while, Ron pretended not to be interested, but curiosity overcame him and he walked over and peered over Draco's shoulder. He let out a low whistle.

"Harry! Harry, come and look at—"

"Ah! Will you look at the time! I just remembered, I have to go meet someone. Er, Dobby, so I'll see you guys later," Harry said, standing up and gathering his books. Hermione sent him a pleading look, but he ignored her and rushed away.

"Hey, wait a minute," Ron said, studying Draco's doodle. He pointed to something. "That's not supposed to be that big. Or that long."

"You're delusional."

"No, you drew that wrong. Don't be stupid, Malfoy, I've seen it myself. Make it shorter."

"So what are you implying?"

"I'm implying nothing. You're just conceited."

"Look who's talking."

"Me? I just tell the truth, I don't show off."

"Of course not." Draco snorted. "Weasley, you flaunt your goodies like a whore."

"Goodies? Whore? You—"

"I think Dobby would like to see me too," Hermione said in a high voice. And she ran out of the library without even bringing her books with her.

**Title: Nonhuman**

**Time: sixth year**

Draco collapsed on top of Ron, sweating and panting. He had been given the opportunity to be the top, the alpha, and his eagerness had used up his stamina quickly. But truly, he did not care much, he enjoyed this feeling of control and authority. And to see the beautiful red head moaning and tossing his head like a bitch, _his_ bitch, gave him much encouragement.

Draco did not feel like coming out of Ron, so the boys rolled on their sides. Ron kept his legs loosely around Draco's waist, quite the opposite from Draco, who usually wrapped his legs tightly around Ron's waist as if it was his anchor to life. Draco was the first one who spoke.

"Congratulations, pauper, you were ruddy brilliant," He said.

Ron took a moment to catch his breath before he spoke. "Nyah, you're better, you're more feminine."

"You're jealous of my handsome features," Draco said. Though he was as out of breath as Ron, he showed no physical sign of struggling for air. The Slytherin kept a cool, contained composure through everything, sex included.

Ron stretched, arching his back and letting out a relaxed noise. Draco watched intently with his stormy eyes. Ron glanced at him and smiled. Those eyes were why Draco looked so damn girly. They weren't ugly, they were beautiful and delicate, perfectly shaped and framed with elegant lashes. Much too beautiful.

"Too pretty," Ron mumbled, lightly running a finger on Draco's jaw line. Draco arched an eyebrow. Another thing that was too perfect, too beautiful.

"Are you really complaining?"

"No," Ron said. And it was true. He enjoyed staring at Draco's pretty face as he would slam into him, since that was one of the few things he felt good in doing and was sure he was good at too. At those times, however, his features did not look painted on, they looked more beautiful when the eyes were half-open and dark with desire, when his mouth was open and issued so many moans. He looked more human then.

"You don't look human when I'm not fucking you," Ron said bluntly.

"Is it a good thing or a bad thing?" Draco said, smirking. "To not look human."

"Bad thing."

"Well then, I suppose you'll have to do it more often," Draco said. He had a devious look in his eyes. "You know, Weasel, I'm not all that tired. Are you?"

"Not at all, Ferret," Ron said. Draco slid out of Ron and rolled onto his back. He opened up his legs, where Ron settled in between. He positioned his hardening staff in front of Draco's entrance and was ready to begin when he remembered something.

"I hate you," Ron reminded him.

"I hate you, too."

**Title: Promise? Tchea right!**

**Time: five-years-old**

The child Ron watched his father glare the strange blonde-haired man out of the house.

"Daddy, who was that?" He said curiously.

"That was…someone who you should never associate yourself with," Arthur Weasley said curtly. There was a scurrying in the background and his eyes shot up in alert. "And no matter how much you can hate him," He called out, "You should never bombard him with stink bombs, or dung bombs, or any sort of bomb when he enters a house as a guest."

Seven-year-old Fred and George stepped out, scowling. "Dad! Come on…"

"We only wanted a laugh."

"Wouldn't have been that big of a deal."

"You always said Lucius Malfoy was so uptight he probably had something stuck up in his arse."

"What's that?" Ron said. "What does _arse_ mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything," Mr. Weasley snapped. "Boys, where did you learn that word? No, on second thought, I don't want to know, just…grab a bite to eat. Your mum's going to be home late, so meanwhile I need you to de-gnome the garden. Shoo!"

He waved the twins away, then stood there in the middle of the room, deep in thought.

"Daddy?" Ron tentatively asked. He knew his father did not get mad often, but when he did, he was perhaps more intimidating then his mummy. "Daaaddy," Ron said in a more whining noise.

Mr. Weasley sighed and turned around to face his youngest son. "Ron, promise me you'll never associate with Malfoys."

"But why—"

"It'll make your life a lot easier," Mr. Weasley said. "Trust me, son, you don't want to mess around with the Malfoy family."

Ron never sealed that promise. He was too curious to say yes.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A/N – I have a few more ideas for drabbles, but from here on the drabbles will be mostly from reviewer's ideas and requests. So thank you to whoever is reading this, since this is at the bottom of the page and you had to have read my drabbles already. Unless you're abnormal, but no offense if you are. Just review and I'll love you for that. n-n


	3. Chapter 3

**Hate**

**Summary**: Ron and Draco had a hate so strong, it could not be knocked down by anything. Sex, war, wives, whatever they faced, the hate stayed strong and did not burn down. Join me for spring break with allieweasley in the story of Hate. Watch out homophobics, it's slash, and you wouldn't like that, would you?

The Drabbles II

**Title: No title, just something hot**

**Time: after the war and the wives**

Ron groaned as he massaged in the hardness in his pants. He leaned against the expensive tile on the wall of Malfoy Manor. Or it could've been slate, or mosaic, whatever it was, it cost a fortune and leave it to Draco to show off.

Speaking of the blonde, Draco Malfoy had already taken his business dress robes off and was unbuttoning his shirt in the same manner he had when they were in school. Back when they were younger, without wives and scars of war, but besides that, they were still pretty much the same.

"Feeling guilty yet?" Draco said, pushing up against Ron. He had lost his patience and left his shirt halfway buttoned, but Ron didn't mind the slightest.

"Nope, not yet," Ron murmured. The two men grinded their hips and moaned in unison.

"How's your Mudblood?" Draco said. They had made a habit of asking each other about their families, which would produce shame from anyone else but for some reason, not them. Not Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley.

"_Hermione_ is doing fine," Ron said through gritted teeth. He felt a rare spark of anger. "I don't call Pansy 'The Pug', do I?"

"Yes, you do, you call her that everyday, so I'm at liberty at calling your dearest wife whatever I wish," Draco said. He had a mischievous spark in his eyes now. One of his hands unzipped and unbuttoned Ron's pants to grope his erection through boxers now slightly moist from sweat. The other hand buried itself in red hair that was still as long and windswept as it had been long ago, but Draco preferred it that way.

"Ferret."

"Weasel," Draco responded coolly. Their foreheads were touching gently, and hot pants of breath reached each other's lips but neither connected them yet. "Have I mentioned that I hate red hair?"

"Many times," Ron said. He let out a moan and his hips bucked against Draco's touch.

"Mmhmm, it makes your—"

"Eyelashes look weird," Ron finished. He grabbed hold of Draco's back and pulled the other man closer to him. "'Least I don't look like a gay lord."

Draco snorted. "At least I don't look like a gay pauper," He retorted.

"Wonderful comeback."

"I believe my sarcasm is rubbing off on you," Draco said. His pink tongue darted out and tasted Ron's bottom lip. With one final stroke, Ron's hips bucked once more and cum spurted out of the tip.

"W-we have to go now," Ron panted. "I need to borrow an extra pair of boxers."

"You're stealing all my underpants," Draco said, but as always, he led Ron to his oversized closet and pulled out a pair of silver and green boxers. "Doesn't your wife ever notice that you wear underwear with Slytherin colors?"

"No, actually, she doesn't," Ron mused. He was surprised himself that Hermione, with all her brains, could not notice something so crucial. Well…"Well maybe she does, but she doesn't care."

"Maybe she doesn't want to believe it," Draco said softly. He buttoned his shirt back up and went back to the bathroom to get his dress robes. Ron was left staring at the boxers in contemplation. He took a deep sniff and inhaled Draco's scent.

"I hate you," He told Draco when Draco arrived with both men's robes.

"I hate you, too," Draco said effortlessly, and they got dressed and headed downstairs.

**Title: Wonder Boy's worry**

**Time: seventh year**

Harry had just finished up his Potion's homework (finally!) with a sigh of relief and a yawn when Ron came through the portrait hole. Harry stiffened, but Ron just grinned at him tiredly.

"What are you to, mate?" Ron said, plopping down on a chair next to the fire. He let out a great yawn. "Yep, I think I'll just stay here all night."

"Could've just stayed with your boyfriend," Harry said. He cringed. It sounded so odd, just the feeling of a man and his boyfriend.

"He's not my boyfriend, Harry," Ron said. "But if it makes you feel better, yeah, 'course, we hold hands and give each other flowers."

Harry tried his best to stay awake. He sat down next to Ron in a serious manner, with a serious expression. "Ron, we really need to talk," He said.

"Harry, we've talked a million times, and it's in the middle of the night, I'm dead tired," Ron said. He yawned again.

Harry shook his head. "No. Ron, you're my best mate, we've been friends all through Hogwarts. And that's why I'm worried about you," Harry shook Ron's shoulder to get him to look him in the eye. "Ron, you need to get your facts straight. You say you hate him, you spend more time with him then me, and I just don't get it. Are you guys together, or not?"

"Er…" Ron said, contemplating. "Well, yes and no."

"Yes and no?"

"Physically yes, mentally no."

Harry's cheeks turned red. "And another thing. Ron, he's a Malfoy, Malfoys have been in Slytherin for centuries. How do you know he's not just trying to get a hold of you, send you over to Voldemort, or something?"

"What could You-Know-Who possibly want with me?" Ron snapped. "I'm just the weird, tall guy who follows you around. Hmm, yeah, red hair, freckles, and poor like any other Weasley. Living in Harry Potter's shadow, yeah, that's right. Oh, what's his name again? Steve? Yep, that's the one."

"Ron! I don't want any attention!" Harry said furiously. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

"How many times do _I_ have to tell _you?_" Ron said. He took a deep breath. "Harry, I'm sorry, you're my best mate and I should stop acting stupid. But it's complicated, with me and Draco. Don't give me that look, yeah, I call him Draco." Ron sighed and slapped Harry's back friendly. "But whatever happens, he'll still be a slimy git and you'll still be my best friend. The only difference is—"

"Oh, don't finish that sentence," Harry groaned. Ron laughed, and the two fell asleep in front of the roaring fire, as best friends do.

**Title: An early birthday present**

**Time: fifth year**

It was an ordinary morning for Ron Weasley. He was sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, half-asleep and wondering what he had said in the past ten minutes. Ron's best friends, Harry and Hermione, were both sitting across from him and they were joining him in their complaints about the subject of homework. Actually, Harry and Ron were doing the real complaining; Hermione was more of lecturing the two for not having good common sense and time management. As always.

Unfortunately, for our Gryffindor trio, things are never normal for the Chosen One, the smartest girl in their year, and…the boy who was friends with the two. With dark lords wanting no more than to kill you, O.W.L.'s approaching in fast, older brothers who had a reputation for sending teachers and students to the hospital wing, and etc., _normal_ means _abnormal._

Therefore, it was _normal_ when a handsome eagle owl purposely flew into Ron's porridge and knocked half of his breakfast onto his shirt. Ron let out a howl of rage and shooed with away.

"You stupid owl, get off me!" Ron shouted at it as it flew away, hooting teasingly and leaving a package for him in return. "Lookit what you did! Argh, this was a new shirt, too!"

Ron then had a nasty image of what Malfoy would say at "new shirt". Something along the lines of, "A _new_ shirt, Weasel? Why, I thought I'd never see the day. Well done, I'm quite proud of you. Maybe next time your fat mother will by you some fitting pants as well," And then the stuck-up blonde would probably laugh at his shrunken pants that could not, as much as it tried, cover the entire length of Ron's long, lanky legs.

Hermione had already decided that the ordeal with Ron vs. owl wasn't as exciting as to get involved in, so she picked up the package the owl had left behind and began examining it. Harry peered over her shoulder.

"It says _Dear Ron_ in some fancy penmanship," He muttered. Harry raised his eyebrows at Ron. "Do you know anybody who likes sending packages to people with mysterious writings?"

Ron snorted. "Very mysterious," He said, and began wiping the porridge off his shirt with his napkin. "Harry, can I bother yours?"

Harry handed his friend his napkin. "Keep it, it's yours," He said the minute Ron began to laden his napkin with the thick morning concoction. Ron did not seem to hear, he was trying his best to get enough porridge off so that it wasn't so extremely visible, since he certainly did not feel like going all the way back up to Gryffindor Tower and change.

"Ron, this is Malfoy's handwriting," Hermione suddenly said. Ron, who had just taken a sip of his morning pumpkin juice, spit it out all over Harry's front.

"Ron!"

"Sorry," Ron said hoarsely. Harry shot him a look and left the great hall to change. Ron turned towards Hermione. "Why would _Malfoy_ send me something?"

"Well," Hermione said thoughtfully, "Your birthday is coming, it's next week. Maybe…?"

Ron snickered. "That's right, the spoiled little nutter would definitely give something to me for my birthday. Seriously Hermione, why would he send me this? You don't think it's some sort of Death-Eater-father thing or something?"

"I really can't think of a logical explanation to this, but I _don't_ think it has to do with Volde—fine! You-Know-Who, honestly Ron, anyway it doesn't have anything to do with him, I'm quite sure," Hermione frowned contemplatively. "Maybe someone forged his signature?"

"That's ridiculous," Ron said, taking the package from Hermione's hands and turning it as to examine all of the surface area. A slight hopefulness inside of him almost wished that he could get a gift from the blonde Slytherin. He looked closely at the words, _Dear Ron_. Maybe they could stop their fighting, finally, and Ron could continue his life without being embarrassed and humiliated by Malfoy practically every single day. "I'm opening it."

"Ron, wait no! I just thought perhaps—"

But Ron had already torn the paper off and let out a shout as the box began smoking. "It's hot!"

"There are such things as _howler_ boxes!" Hermione said, horrified. "You buy them from the joke store, they become activated when you take the paper off! Ron, _do_ something!"

But Ron was staring speechlessly and slack-jawed at the red box which had becoming vibrating slightly with heat. The smoke began to increase, and then—

"_STEP RIGHT UP FELLOWS, STEP RIGHT UP TO SEE THE AMAZING WEASEL OF THE GRYFFINDORKS! HE CAN DO TRICKS, HE CAN PLAY GAMES, WELL, HE'D DO JUST ABOUT ANYTHING FOR A BIT OF MONEY. TAKES AFTER HIS FATHER YOU KNOW, WHAT A GOOD LAD! OH, AND HE CAN CHANGE COLORS, HE'S TURNING RED BEFORE OUT EYES, LOOK AT HIM GO!"_

It was true. Ron was turning bright red with raging anger and embarrassment. All he could see was the taunting red box before him, all he could hear was Malfoy's voice booming and bouncing off the walls, reaching the ears of every single person in the great hall.

When the circus-like act turned into a chant of "Weasley is our King", Ron marched from the table and ran out of the Great Hall with everyone chortling and giggling. There was an especially loud roar of laughter from the Slytherin end when Ron tripped over his own feed in an attempt to get out as quickly as possibly. He heard Malfoy call out to him, but he ignored him and kept running. Furiously, he stomped his way over to the nearest boy's bathroom and punched a mirror. His knuckles began bleeding, but he did not care. He could heal them with his wand, but right now he felt too numb to do so.

He had foolishly wished that he and Malfoy could stop fighting. But that was not possible, Weasley vs. Malfoy was a longtime blood rival and had gotten into their heads nearly five years ago. Ron sighed long and hard and allowed himself to collapse on the tiled floor.

They would forever hate each other. It couldn't be stopped.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A/N – Thanks to all those who reviewed, and special thanks for Squibakou for giving me the birthday present idea. I'll love you forever girl, and may our forum threads forever continue in off-topic discussions. And hoo boy, Gackt is _hot_. I'll finish watching the vampire movie tomorrow and we can talk about it.

A message for all of you guys, I _will_ be doing requests for drabbles. Spring break is ending soon, and I want to squeeze two more chapters out. n-n


	4. Chapter 4

**Hate**

**Summary**: Ron and Draco had a hate so strong, it could not be knocked down by anything. Sex, war, wives, whatever they faced, the hate stayed strong and did not burn down. Join me for spring break with allieweasley in the story of Hate. Watch out homophobics, it's slash, and you wouldn't like that, would you?

**Warning:** randomness

The Drabbles III

Poetry

**Title: _none  
_****Author: Lord Voldemort  
****Time: during the war**

Some are foolish enough to love.

Ronald and Draco are intelligent enough to hate.

I shall let them live.

**Title: Life is so…yeah whatever  
****Author: Pansy Parkinson  
****Time: after the war**

Life is cruel,

Like a mule.

Life is weird,

Like a beard.

Life is nice,

Without mice,

Like is…okay, I can't rhyme! Give me a break!

**Title: There once was a Great Wonder Weasel  
****Author: guess, you filthy Muggles  
****Time: beginning of seventh year**

There once was a Great Wonder Weasel,

Whose large staff supported his great easel,

Scum belongs on his knees,

So I do as I please,

Oh, what fun I have with that Great Wonder Weasel!

**Title: There was once a slimy faggoty ferret  
****Author: the future murderer of Draco Malfoy  
****Time: beginning of seventh year**

There was once a slimy faggoty ferret,

Who spent so much time on bottom he could not bear it,

"Not this time!" He cried,

But his efforts soon died,

When he realized something greater could pair it. :P

_**Quick note:** Weasley, you suck at poetry.  
__**Response:** Shut the hell up._

**Title: Love  
****Author: Percy Weasley  
****Time: all through Hogwarts**

**L**ow, high, steep, wide, it travels to and fro.

**O**h, will its bittersweet taste remain? Or will the sourness grow?

**V**oyaging to the depths of your soul, the beast burrows into your heart,

**E**ating away at your very being, but you never had the bravery to say no.

**Title: Hope  
****Author: a lover of Emily Dickinson, Hermione Granger  
****Time: after the war**

"Hope is the thing with feathers,

That has devoured my being—my soul,

Drenched with the useless emotion,

So sad is my role.

_**Quick note:** (Luna) Beautiful poetry, Hermione.  
__**Quick note #2:** (Pansy) Yet so very grey…like your blood.  
__**Response:** Don't be immature, Mrs. Malfoy._

**Title: War  
****Author: Percy Weasley  
****Time: during the war**

**W**easleys

**A**re

**R**uined

**A/N – **I'm not very good at poetry, but I liked the idea of everyone showing their innermost feelings through the language of rhyming. I am in serious need to ideas for ideas for the next chapter, so review and give me your input, please! n-n


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